They were wet, as was the hem of his duster.
Lazarus looked about for the woman in red and black, but could not see her. Strange that she should have disappeared at this exact moment. He cursed his distracted mind, for one of the thugs had drawn a sawn-off shotgun and raised it into the air. He just had time to drop to one knee and thrust his hand into his right boot as the shot went off, a deafening roar tearing apart the fun in the casino and peppering the cherubs in the ceiling.
McCluskey’s goon went for his gun and was sent hurtling over the railing by a blast from behind, his ruptured innards spattering the nearest poker table and its players. The barman ducked behind the counter and emerged with his own shotgun, but didn’t get a chance to fire a round as one from another gun took him apart, sending him crashing into the mirror behind the bar, shattering glass and bottles. It happened so fast that those in the crowd who had concealed firearms barely had a chance to draw them.
“Nobody else move, goddammit!” cried the thug in the centre of the room. “We ain’t here to rob you! We just want to relieve you of a very nasty and disreputable man by the name of Gerard Vasquez!”
Damn! thought Lazarus, feeling around in his boot for the butt of his Colt London. Bounty Hunters.
“Step right up Mr. Vasquez, and come with us!” the gunman continued. “No need to be shy!”
Lazarus looked to Vasquez who sat calmly toying with his hand of cards, his other hand hidden beneath the table. Lazarus was not concerned that his quarry might end up in the hands of these goons. Vasquez was too good for that. But a stray bullet might put an end to him before Lazarus could spirit him away. He had to do something, and fast.
Time was up and Vasquez was on his feet in an instant, hurling the card table over, his LeMat revolver spitting fire in the direction of the lead bounty hunter. And that was when, as they say, all hell broke loose. Those whose twitching fingers had been hovering over the straps and bulges that hid their weapons now broke them free and picked their targets.
Several of the passengers were dead almost instantaneously, their final hand played out and their blood running in rivulets along the wooden planks. Lazarus rose and drew his pistol, dropping one of the bounty hunters in a heartbeat. He dived behind a faux-Georgian pillar as the deadly volley of vengeance headed his way. The exits were still blocked—Vasquez kept his head low as shotgun blasts slowly ate away at his cover in showers of splinters and clouds of green felt.
“To your left, Vasquez!” Lazarus cried, poking his head around the pillar. “Make for the door. I’ll cover you!”
The bandit did not hesitate to find out who his sudden ally was and they moved together in synchronism; Vasquez running for the door in a hunched over position, and Lazarus blasting at each of the intruders in turn, keeping their attention fixed solely on him.
He saw Vasquez vanish. Now it was time for him to make his move. Two of the gunmen had followed the bandit out and the others were occupying themselves with hurling their anger at Lazarus, blast after blast crunching through the pillar and biting deep into the wood.
He heard the sound of a shotgun being broken so that a greasy thumb could slide in more cartridges. Rolling from behind the pillar, he fired once, shattering the face of one of the gunmen. In a maelstrom of pellets and wooden splinters, he made for the door.
Out on deck he came across the bodies of two bounty hunters lying in pools of blood. One, pierced by a medium caliber, had undoubtedly been struck by Vasquez’s return fire but the other had a hole in its chest the size of a cannonball, which greatly unnerved Lazarus.
His feet pounded wooden planking as he chased after his quarry, swinging around a banister and leaping down the stairs that led below decks. The corridors were dim, lit only by the red of the fringed fabric wall lamps. There was the occasional green gas light above a door, signifying that it was unoccupied. Lazarus could see the silhouette of Vasquez ahead of him, making for the exit on the other side of the steamer.
There was a deafening roar. Lazarus recognized the sound of a Golgotha rifle and knew to duck as the round passed over his head. He spun around and fired, immediately knowing that it was useless. McCluskey’s more expensive security measure had caught up with them.
The Mecha-guard fired off another round, its right arm that tapered into the point of the rifle blazing orange in the dimness. These mechanized guards were heavy duty soldiers; organic matter encased in metal. Its furnace blazed purple, and steam hissed from the funnel on its left shoulder. Lazarus could make out the oily rivets and plate iron and knew that his petty weapon would have no effect.
As he fled, he could hear old Steamboat Steve screeching from behind. “Go on you great lug! Gettem!”
Lazarus brushed past a half-naked customer who had scampered out of one of the rooms in a state of terror, hopping about with his britches half falling off.
“Hey,” the Mecha-whore cried behind him, shambling out into the corridor. “You did not insert a coin into the slot! Please insert coin!”
The blast from the Mecha-guard’s rifle caught her in the middle, sending shards of razor-edged metal thudding into the paneled walls. The Mecha-whore turned around in surprise and caught a second round in the chest. Chunks of organic matter splattered everywhere. McCluskey howled.
“Don’t shoot the whores, goddamit! They cost a fortune to repair, not to mention replacing the organic!”
Lazarus made it to the other side of the steamer in one piece and caught up with Vasquez. He pointed his pistol at him. Vasquez eyed him suspiciously.
“You ain’t one of them,” the bandit said. “Who are you?
“Somebody who wants you alive,” Lazarus said.
Vasquez’s eyes glared at the gun barrel. “Funny way of showing it.”
Another rifle blast tore through the railings and they both took cover behind some packing crates. The Mecha-guard stomped out on deck and began searching for them, its organic pilot peering through slits in its iron helmet. It blasted apart a crate and Lazarus thanked his stars he wasn’t behind it. But it wouldn’t take long for it to find them.
Two shotgun blasts from behind the Mecha-guard were fired off in quick succession, knocking it forward. It turned around slowly, looking for its attacker. Lazarus peeped over the edge of his crate and saw the woman in red and black striding towards them, firing round after round from a shotgun with an automatic magazine, chomping away at the Mecha-guard’s iron plating, pushing it back, back, towards the railings. A final blast sent it through the railings, and it tumbled down into the blades of the propeller.
There was a terrible sound of splintering wood and grinding metal. The great paddlewheel exploded, sending torn planks hurtling skywards as metal rims popped off at the sides. The steamer began to lurch and drift to starboard. Lazarus stood up to thank the woman for saving their bacon, and then ducked just in time to avoid being hit by another blast from her shotgun.
“Damn, woman! What have you got against me?”
“You are getting in my way,” she replied in a strong Eastern European accent. “Where is Vasquez?”
“Who’s askin’?” Vasquez said, rising slowly.
He got the same greeting Lazarus got, only lower. It missed him as well, tearing loose a chunk of the crate he was hiding behind. He fired back, but the woman swung behind a corner, all billowing skirts and shotgun smoke. Lazarus saw Vasquez rise and hurry towards her position, gun held outwards.
He got up and dashed towards him. Vasquez cried out a curse as he barreled into him, and they struck the railing as one. Loosened by the Mecha-guard’s recent departure, the railing gave way. Lazarus just had time to catch a glimpse of the woman’s enraged face before the water hit them like a sheet of glass.
Down, down they floundered, bubbles of air rushing up around them like fairy lights. By the time they rose to the surface, the Mary Sue was far downstream, its single remaining paddle turning it in slow circles. Gunshots cracked through the night air.
“Christ, you idiot!” Vasquez
howled. “Why didn’t you let me pop her?”
Lazarus didn’t have an answer to that and struggled to keep a grip on his hostage, but the current was too strong and Vasquez managed to wriggle out of his grasp.
They drifted further and further apart. Lazarus could make out the shape of a small boat making its way towards them. Men in dusters stood aboard. Guns spoke out and Lazarus dived to avoid being hit. When he rose, he saw that the bounty hunters had apprehended Vasquez and were dragging him aboard their small vessel. He cursed and headed for shore.
By the same author
The Lazarus Longman Chronicles
Through Mines of Deception (novella)
On Rails of Gold – A Prequel to Golden Heart (novella)
Golden Heart
Silver Tomb
Onyx City
Celluloid Terrors
Curse of the Blood Fiends (forthcoming)
https://pjthorndyke.wordpress.com/
As Chris Thorndycroft
The Hengest and Horsa Trilogy
A Brother’s Oath
A Warlord’s Bargain
A King’s Legacy
The Rebel and the Runaway
Novellas
The Visitor at Anningley Hall – A prequel to M. R. James’s ‘The Mezzotint’
Old Town
https://christhorndycroft.wordpress.com/
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